Give A Dog A Bones
by ThatSassyCaptain
Summary: We pick up a decade or so after where 'Dog Days' left off: With the Enterprise refitted and ready for some explorating, our beloved pals head to a trade conference. Who knows what they will encounter? Hint: it's not me. I have no idea
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: guest reviewer, there's not a solid plot as of yet, but here's what I have. I am SO OPEN to suggestions**

He liked these new uniforms better. McCoy had just traded in his plunging neckline for the most sensible turtleneck in the galaxy. And according to the new uniform regulations, he could wear it under his medical jumpsuit as well. _Finally_.

So the _Enterprise_ had been refitted. He didn't really care or get up in arms about it like Scotty did. It was bigger, nicer, and it had better quarters for the officers. Scotty couldn't complain about all the new space in the conjoining bathroom- there was more than enough room for a sizeable liquor closet.

McCoy was relishing his privacy and his new uniform. Whatever they made them out of, it was soft. He ran his hands down the sleeves one more time before pulling on the jumpsuit. Oh, the jackets were alright, but medical certainly didn't draw the short straw this time. All the nurses had a distinct uniform, harkening back to the days of old with white aprons and labcoats. More than just aesthetics- this stuff was _comfortable_.

He felt dressed to the nines as he stepped out of his quarters. But the halls were full. Crisp, new uniforms paraded around at every turn, brightened up the turbolifts, and made Sickbay look every bit the well-oiled machine it was.

"Morning, Doctor." He and Chapel said about in unison. It had become a bit of a habit since she'd become Assistant CMO. But it was plain chaos when M'Benga visited from Vulcan- 'doctor' hardly seemed like a real word at the end of that week. Other than that, they all got along splendidly. Really, everything about the _Enterprise_ seemed better than it ever was.

His office had a lot of glass, transparent aluminum, or whatever the clear stuff they stuck up instead of walls was. There was no napping on duty in this box, no siree. He sat down behind the desk and started pouring over last night's report. All but one case of Cytherian Flu had cleared up, and Lieutenant Commander Leslie was feeling well enough to try the alternate set of vaccines. So, no news.

Chapel was walking this way. McCoy stuck his head out the door and called after her. "Anything interesting happen 'fore I got here?"

Chapel rolled her eyes and turned back around to face her boss. "Eddie Leslie started projectile sneezing again, but it's slowed down. You ought to ask the Head Nurse."

"Sorry." McCoy grinned. "Force of habit."

"You say that _every morning_." Chapel turned on her heel and walked off. She had bigger fish to fry than one bored CMO. Knowing this ship, work would turn up.

McCoy dropped back into his chair and swiveled back and forth. He surveyed the Sickbay like a nervous factory manager. Everything seemed too quiet. Nurses came and went on their own assignments; a lab tech or two would appear, but no patients. No injured.

But he ought to relax, shouldn't he? This was the flagship, and arguably the most famous vessel in the Federation. She'd proved herself in battle with both firepower and maneuverability. What did he have to worry about?

" _Kirk to Sickbay."_

 _That_ , for one thing.

McCoy pounced on the comm before it had the chance to click off. "Sickbay here. Jim what's wrong?"

There was laughter on the other end. _The nerve_. " _Nothing's wrong, Bones, just calling to check your status and remind you about the diplomatic envoy."_

Like he could forget. In about three days time, they were scheduled to pick up a whole mess of ambassadors and deliver them to a trade conference hosted by the Canopian Alliance. It was a smaller power, but the Canopians had such a wide variety of vegetable and grain species, that all corners of the quadrant were enticed to attend.

"I've already set up the tank for the Marecinian delegation, so-"

" _Bones, there's an ion storm moving towards the Alliance border. We're jumping to Warp 8 so we can pick them up today._ "

McCoy about fell out of his seat. "Today? Jim you're joking!" They hadn't even _started_ pumping the water into the cargo bay, let alone pressurizing the quarters on Deck Four. And they had to give the starbase the room coordinates…

" _Bones? Bones are you still there?"_

"Yes Jim." He snapped, "But if I have an aneurism, I'm holding you personally responsible. Do you know how many things we're behind on now?"

McCoy could hear the sigh over the connection. " _Blame the ion storm, Bones. I can distribute maintenance personnel wherever you need them."_

"Redistribute all of Operations, why don't you! Now if you don't mind Captain sir, I don't have time to hang around chitchatting! McCoy out."

He jammed his fist down on the comm button and scurried out from behind his desk.

"Doctor Chapel! The powers that be have decided to upend our department. All the deadlines have been moved up to _tonight_. If you don't mind supervising the pressurization operations, I'll go handle the hullabaloo with the cargo bay."

Chapel's face remained an impassive mask of professionalism, but her eyes betrayed the irritation McCoy knew to be lurking just beneath the surface. Since she'd become a doctor, Chapel had a whole different air about her. It was like she'd finally found herself, the place she belonged and wanted to be. In a way, they all had. Coming back together was the best thing that could've happened to them. This crew was family.

"If this is Kirk's fault, I'm wringing his neck." Chapel promised.

"Unfortunately for the both of us, it's an ion storm responsible this time around. But I'm sure you'll get your chance one of these days." Chapel hurried off in a huff. McCoy shook his head at the insanity of it all on got right down to work.

The Berellians wanted a lot of conductive goo, that was a given. McCoy was sending the first team of Jim's reassigned operations folks to the cargo bay, but the second group was on 'hospitality'. All the guest quarters would have to be up to snuff before the diplomats ever arrived. The 'goo' team was sent to replicate whole vats of the stuff while another team took more of a divide and conquer approach. Teams of 2 were sent out to Decks 2 and 6 to ready the guest quarters there.

McCoy concentrated his morning efforts on the Sickbay. He made sure his nurses had the guest dossiers and sent them to synthesize painkillers for each type of alien biology about to embark on the Journey to Canopis Station.

More than anything else, however, they needed feet on the ground. McCoy finished handing out assignments before rolling up his sleeves and jumping right in the middle of it. He headed down to the cargo bay where steady hands were in short supply at the moment.

Scotty was directing traffic. He knew better than anyone the scale of the undertaking, so it was the most sensible place for him to be. McCoy stepped out of the turbolift and had to wait for the passing of a great big hose. Two crewmen waved, but the other seven kept both hands around the massive bunch of rubber. Once they'd cleared, the Doctor continued into the cargo bay.

"Scotty! How's the miracle workin'?"

The Chief Engineer was about as excited for the new schedule as everyone else. Montgomery Scott met McCoy with a fine scowl. "It'll be a _miracle_ if we get the thing finished, Doctor!" He gestured to the tank being constructed in the middle of the floor. There was another, smaller, one already constructed for temporary use if need be, but the behemoth before them was far from finished.

"I'll say." McCoy sighed. "Too bad about that ion storm. But, I know what Jim's thinking and it's for the best. Lord knows we don't want to do _that_ again."

"Aye. I reckon the Captain's made the only decision he could." It still didn't mean they had to like it. "The lads are goin' as fast as they can, but it'll be close."

McCoy watched as the engineers hoisted each other up on cables and anti-grav scaffolds. And on top of all that, they had to fill the blasted thing with water. "Where do you need me? I can help out anywhere they need an extra set of hands."

Scotty gave him a look that ruled out any construction-based activity. McCoy vowed to be offended later, if they were less pressed for time.

"Y'know, none of the lads can take the time to set the chemical regulator for the tank…"

"…And I just happen to have the medical know-how to make sure the Marecinians don't end up in a vat of salt?"

"Aye," Scotty chuckled, "That about sums it up. Pressure controls are that way, regulator's on the second level." He pointed and clapped a hand on McCoy's back. "Good to have you on the team."

McCoy rolled his eyes and made his way toward the ladder. "Don't get used to it!"

He flagged down another engineer and had her point the way towards that pesky regulator. Truth be told, it was not a hard thing to find, now that he knew what it looked like. The regulator was this massive hunk of metal wired in a dozen places to one of the computer terminals. Something told him this wasn't going to be an easy job.

McCoy pushed his sleeves back up and started fussing with the main panel. Some fool had set it to pump out clear freshwater, 100% pure H2O. Pulling up a settings menu took a few tries, considering the regulator looked like it had been _made_ for freshwater, and McCoy realized this was really going to be a project.

He circled around to the side and pried off the plate labeled 'chemicals'. _Boy howdy_. Inside, he ought to find the sample canisters containing the various vitamins and minerals needing to be replicated. Instead, he found a mess.

"Confound this ancient machinery." McCoy declared, heedless of volume or eavesdroppers. He was going to have to make a decision he knew he'd regret. Temporarily abandoning his post, the Doctor trudged to the nearest storage closet and traded out his lovely white jumpsuit for some engineering coveralls.

Now it was time to tame the beast. Or die trying… At least he wouldn't soil his luxurious new uniform on the first day.

The first thing that had to go was the wire connecting the call system to the main computer circuitry. He grabbed the fat hunk of rubber and ripped it out of the frayed housing. Now it wouldn't dispense a drop unless he told it otherwise. McCoy knew most of the unit would have to be replaced eventually, but he had less than 8 hours. This had all the earmarks of a pet project. _Or a quagmire,_ he thought ruefully.

At all times, he kept the formulas for sucrose and sodium chloride in the back of his mind, as these were the two most abundant chemicals found in the waters on the Marecinians' home world. The components of these two compounds were the only ones that needed to be in ready supply at this juncture. The rest of the stuff in there could go and rot. McCoy told it so.

When the injector started sparking at him, McCoy swore up and down that the second this mission was over, he would _personally_ throw the hunk of junk misnomer of a 'regulator' out an airlock. Scotty's subsequent laughter was almost as loud. Of course, that sent the good Doctor into another blue streak that had the whole cargo bay walking on eggshells.

When somebody finally came and tapped him on the shoulder, McCoy was covered in grease, cleaning solution, and sweat in nearly equal parts. A pretzel stick hung out the side of his mouth like a cigar. It took two attempts to get his attention. The Doctor backed his arms out of the machine's belly and turned, giving his visitor a good look at the mess he'd made of himself.

"Wow, Bones, I thought you were a doctor, not an engineer."

The pretzel stick disappeared and a grease-stained hand replaced it with another. "Jim, unless you brought something other than solution for me to dip these things in, get lost. I've nearly coaxed it into pumping water and not sludge."

The Captain, uniform pristine as the minute it was delivered, looked down at his CMO with a shake of his head. "Cleaning solution, Bones? Maybe I should be the one monitoring _your_ diet. Besides, I'm sure someone else can handle the repairs while you get cleaned up."

McCoy turned away and stuck his face up against the opening. "Where are you gonna find spare personnel at this hour? I bet Scotty's got them worked to the bone or spread clear across the ship." The regulator chose this moment to spit a liquid mix of grease and charred sucrose all over its attending physician.

Jim pursed his lips. "You sure?"

Scowling, McCoy wiped off a majority of the sludge with his filthy sleeve. "Yes I am, _Captain_ , unless you can scare up an engineer who can fix this thing to my specifications."

He didn't see his Captain's raised eyebrows. "Of course I can, Bones, if one of them doesn't mind changing back out of dress uniform. Roll call was half an hour ago."

McCoy blinked. Half an hour? "Ain't no way, Jim, I only just started pulling apart the compressor. It's slow work, not being an engineer, but I couldn't've-"

"Taken seven hours? You did. The last progress report you gave Scotty said it was 87 percent complete, and he took that one in his quarters. The Marecinians can wait another half hour for their quarters, but _you_ are needed to greet the diplomatic envoy. They expect nothing less."

The Doctor's face went slack with surprise. Shock, maybe. "Seven hours, Jim?"

" _Transporter Room to Captain Kirk._ " Scotty's voice echoed in the cargo bay. " _The diplomatic envoys are ready to begin transport._ "

"Well, Bones, looks like you're out of time." Jim scowled at the ceiling, upset at himself for not thinking to check with his senior officers at least a little bit in advance. He grabbed McCoy's arm and hauled him off the ground. "We're going to have to take this show on the road. Where is your uniform?"

It wasn't in the storage closet where McCoy left it. Jim knew it would take far too long to hike up to Bones' quarters for a replacement, so another pair of coveralls would have to do. An apologizing ensign met them in the turbolift with a washcloth. McCoy managed to get his arms clean by the time they reached the transporter room.

"Stand back here with me, Doctor. They might not notice." Scotty pulled him behind the console- so his state of dress might pass unnoticed- and took the wet washcloth to McCoy's face. The transporter chief began shoving the doctor into his uniform jacket. Although too big, the young man said, it might serve in a pinch.

"Besides, the turtleneck is a good look." The fussing was over and the ship's CMO looked mostly presentable. He was reminded of the scene in the old standard-display movie _Mulan_ , where she gets tugged around like some sort of dress-up doll. It wasn't something he was keen on doing again.

The Captain turned to his motley crew, mostly assembled before him. He fought the urge to groan. "Scotty, did we get someone on that regulator problem?"

"Aye sir. It'll be done within the hour."

Jim breathed a huge sigh. "Wonderful. Alright, people. It's showtime." He turned to face the platform. "Mister Scott, whenever you're ready."

"Aye sir." Scotty punched in the coordinates and got ready to start the beam up. "It'll be the Starfleet Security detail and the Berellian Ambassadors first. Beginning transport sequence."

They all watched the golden haze spread over the transporter platform. McCoy could see some tall, slender figures materializing in the front, but the back was a wall of light. When the atom descrambling was finished, his jaw dropped. There were the Marecinians in front, swaddled in water-retention suits, but behind them…

"Blue!" It was a man's voice, a grown voice, but the owner was unmistakable. After all these years, he hadn't lost his youthful charm.

"Conna!" McCoy forgot his state of dress and bolted out from behind the transporter console. The Marecinians quickly vacated the pad. They wouldn't want to stand in the way of this reunion.

Hard to imagine as it was, but Conna had _grown_ since McCoy saw him last. His fur was a rich dark brown, speckled with white spots, and now it seemed he had a uniform of his own. There was a maroon jacket stretched across his shoulders with –surprise of surprises- a Starfleet pin attached to the front. He had the rank of lieutenant, Security division. Conna must've gotten a universal translator implant as well, because his outfit lacked the clunky cylinder they'd used to talk last time.

McCoy only had a moment to take this in before Conna came to a full stop at the edge of the platform, paw coming up parallel to the side of his head. "Lieutenant Conna- diplomatic security- reporting for duty, Captain."

He could practically _feel_ Jim's grin, which made the Doctor think there was a little more to this than plain surprise. Jim was smiling brightly when he addressed Conna. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. I believe you're familiar with my senior staff…"

Careful to avoid the Marecinians- who were _much_ smaller than the full-grown Lieutenant- Conna stepped down off the pad and made a beeline for McCoy.

"What are you doin' here?" The Doctor decided to throw formality out the window and go straight for the ears. Conna, now much taller than McCoy, licked his face in response.

Jim was grinning like a fool and not a starship captain. "We wanted to surprise you, Bones." He approached the mess of affection. "Chapel was going to keep you away from Sickbay all day so you wouldn't see the last-minute roster, but you did that for yourself."

"Yes." The voice McCoy was starting to connect with Conna said. "I was wondering why you smelled like Engineering."

That got a laugh out of Scotty and McCoy couldn't help but grin. "I just happened to be answerin' the call of duty. Any officer would've stepped in and done the same for our guests. Speakin' of, Jim- do we have somebody…?"

Some lieutenants in perfectly crisp uniforms had already come through the door, ready to escort the Marecinian envoy to their freshly pumped quarters. Jim nodded to Scotty and turned back towards the transporter pad. Only two arrivals this time, and _boy_ , were they big!

It took him a moment to conjure up 'Icheleus' instead of 'Asta', but McCoy recognized the big ol' head of security at once. The old feller was a little grey around the muzzle, but he looked to be in top form otherwise. Next to him was a much younger Treivan, and they were both wearing some kind of… 'dog sweaters' was the best thing his mind could conjure at the moment.

"Doctor McCoy." Icheleus strode forward. His deep voice boomed in the little room, though he hadn't 'spoken' loudly. Somehow, it was exactly what he'd imagined.

"Icheleus. Forgive me, I don't know if I ever knew your proper title, or I'd use it." McCoy made a sort of bowing gesture since they didn't shake hands, and Icheleus seemed far less inclined to lick his face.

The older Treivan's eyes sparkled. "It was 'Captain' when we first met, though now 'Ambassador' is much more fitting." It seemed Icheleus had mellowed with age. He wasn't bounding around, stalking, barking orders, or any of that. This was a wiser Icheleus.

"Well then, Ambassador, I'm glad to welcome you aboard the _Enterprise_." McCoy rocked back onto his heels, grinning. This was shaping up to be a real good day.

"I thank you, Doctor. Also, allow me to introduce my daughter Rhaelam." The young lady stepped forward, not longer obscured by her father's bulk. She was small, smaller than he'd remembered Conna being, with wavy, reddish fur-

McCoy's eyes widened slightly as he realized _just whose_ daughter Rhaelam was. "It's a pleasure to meet you, young lady. I believe I knew both your parents back in the day…?" He directed the last bit towards Icheleus, who exhaled quickly through his nose. A Treivan laugh? A snort?

"You are correct, Doctor. Rhaelam is mine and Ramicran's daughter. We were paired before the invasion, and were able to enter unity after Ambassador Hanari resolved the trouble."

"Ramicran!" Jim spoke up then, surprised. "I'd never have taken you two for a couple, but congratulations either way." There was a faraway look in his eyes for a moment. He probably remembered a lot about the Treivan mission just then.

"Thank you, Captain Kirk. Thank you too for your hospitality. Though, I believe we are holding up the line." He shuffled away from the transporter pad and gestured for Rhaelam to follow.

McCoy jumped right back in, gesturing to Conna and Icheleus. "I can show you to your rooms, the Captain permitting…"

That got a laugh out of Jim. "Of course, Doctor. We really only needed you here for this much. I'm sure Spock, Scotty, and I can handle this without you." There was a twinkle in his eye, and McCoy knew all was golden.

He walked Icheleus, Rhaelam, and Conna out into the hallway. "I can give you the grand tour if you'd like, or we can go straight to your quarters." McCoy was grinning from ear to ear. "Whichever you'd prefer!"

Conna pulled up alongside him and started nosing at his leg. Right. The coveralls. "Blue, you need a wash before the dinner! These clothes look clean, but they reek of Engineering."

McCoy fought the heat creeping up into his face. He could feel the flush coming on, and did his best to wave it off. "I had to take apart a water regulator and put it back together again before all y'all got here. The Marecinians need a special combination of chemicals in their water, and we didn't have another working device."

"It is fine, Doctor." Icheleus spoke up, giving Conna a look that probably said a lot more. "We do not stand so much on formality. I believe Conna wishes this for your sake, not our own."

Chastened, Conna dipped his head a little. "Forgive me. I detected irritation from the Captain on a low level. I would not have mentioned it otherwise."

That made a lot of sense. Jim was kind of in knots about the whole affair. It was reasonable, since they had to move up the timetable and everything. And McCoy really didn't mind. Now that he was off the hook for diplomatic greetings, he couldn't care less if he was a mess.

Though, a shower would be pretty nice right about now.

"I'll be sure to show you to your quarters first. Let me just check the computer…" McCoy walked over to one of the refitted hall terminals and did a quick search. He was awfully glad they had a few of these stationed on every deck. It made information retrieval that much faster.

"There. Your temporary housing is in the recreation deck." He smiled. "Deck Seven. Not too far from Sickbay if anything goes wrong. Let me show y'all the way."

The hallway was filled with bright new uniforms, bustling crewmen, and three giant canines. McCoy had a feeling this might not be turn out bad after all.

 **A/N: Spoiler Alert: it does.**


	2. The Dog Days Ain't Over Folks

**A/N: uhhhhh honest to goodness sorry you guys who got alerts and all had to see the walls of "ksdjfhkladsjhlkjsd"01010101 or whatever FFN decided to do with my formatting. Guess that's what I get for not waiting until my lunch break and posting on mobile.**

 **BUT I DIGRESS... Here it is, some years(?) in the making: Dogs 2 Back in Action. Explanation at the end, thanks for reading.**

McCoy made quick work of a sonic shower and redressing- the perks of getting new uniforms included they were all clean and all there at once. He hadn't had time to wear 'n tear them with the multiple hazards that came along with space exploration. There was no 'best shirt' or 'comfiest pants' yet. It was like the first page of an empty book. So many adventures to be written.

Lest he wax poetic about textiles too long and leave his new companions all on their lonesome, McCoy got himself shipshape and departed. Conna, Icheleus, and Rhaelam would be excited, no doubt, to see the improvements to the flagship just as much as anyone else. Of course, there came the issue of navigating around the smaller delegates while not neglecting any of the good sightseeing. If he could whip up surgical protocols for a Horta in 45 minutes or less, than he figured he could come up with a spicy enough tour.

First things first. He hadn't personally seen to (and possibly left a bag of pretzel sticks in) the Trievan accommodations since he hadn't a clue they'd be onboard. Of course, it made sense that Trievas II was being invited to the Canopis conference. Their success as a multi-species civilization would essentially be the gold standard to which other partnerships would compare. In the last several years, the friendship between the Matrians and the Trievans had become all but legendary. The two species worked together so well, that they'd developed their own highly effective ways of doing things. In fact, McCoy owed not one but three vaccines to the research hospital on Trievas II. Really, the things folks could do when they started cooperating.

It occurred to him, as he hurried down the hall towards the temporary guest quarters, that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of a handler for these three big canines. Surely Treivas II sent somebody with opposable thumbs along with the doggy delegation. A couple hard winters and the original wave of no-good officials had reduced the 'Assistant' population to near endangered levels. The little lizards would be missing more than a good ol' proper name until their herds were sufficient enough to borrow one or two for off-planet duty.

As McCoy pondered what the correct term for a group of lizards was, he rounded the final curve towards his guests' quarters. No, no. 'Herds' won't answer. There's… There's got to be someone other than Spock I can ask about this, at least to save myself a lecture.

He straightened the front of his uniform as he arrived. The door opened almost immediately. Lieutenant Conna was ready and waiting, his tail wagging.

"Good to see you, Doctor! I like this uniform better than the Engineering one."

McCoy couldn't begrudge Conna his joke."Well this one's clean for starters. Hard to find fault in a uniform fresh out of the bag. But more importantly, I hope the new rooms are up to snuff?"

Conna stood aside to let McCoy survey the place the three Trievans would be staying. The rec rooms had been cordoned in what he'd describe as an ingenious fashion. There was proportionally ample space for the three large canines, and a very grabbale series of curtains had been arranged for their privacy. Of course, he wasn't sure how the question of fine motor operations was being dealt with. At least the Trievan delegation seemed happy.

One of the curtains drew back to reveal Icheleus' stately form as he exited to greet his soon-to-be tour guide. Mellow as the big dog might be, McCoy wasn't really sure where they both stood. Icheleus had been a Captain of some sort. He'd given that a bit of thought in the shower. What had he looked like, parading through the barracks with a blanket and causing all sorts of mischief? Dereliction of duty, lolligagging, and borderline inefficiency were probably rampant.

But in the end, Icheleus had come to his rescue. He had thanked the Captain, but he wasn't quite sure if words could describe the feeling of relief when he'd been thrown from the Matrian war party. He'd been largely insensible for a good minute afterward, but there was still the tangible security in having a 500-odd pound dog snarling in your defense.

"Doctor McCoy." Icheleus sounded pleased to see him at least. "We're eager to see more of your ship after our last visit was so brief. Rhaelam in particular wished to see the stars up close."

The young dog in question was looking anywhere but at McCoy. Go figure- I'd bet my bottom dollar she's a teenager, or wherever the equivalent falls for Trievans. Rhaelam just flicked her ears noncommittally and stayed by her father's side.

"Now, forgive me for being nosy, but if it's not a state secret I'd like to ask where the lovely Mrs. Ramicran is?"

Icheleus' eyes softened at the mention of his… wife? Did big dogs recognize the institution of marriage?

"She is currently on a diplomatic mission of her own. While my specialization is closer along the lines of relations, her specialty is negotiation."

"Really?" McCoy had not had the pleasure of getting acquainted with 'Lassie' as he'd dubbed her. There were a great many dogs to pet, and many more who'd wanted to express their appreciation before the Enterprise left. On top of the smattering thanks he'd been able to receive between rescue and recovery, several holotapes, letters, and other expressions of gratitude had found their way to him over the years. A Matrian cadet he'd met a while back went to far as to blushingly tell him the Trievan derivative 'Leonat' was becoming a popular puppy name.

All that to say, there were a lot of things that had changed without him. He just hoped there was enough time to learn it all before they went their separate ways again. No doubt there would be time to talk on the return trip from the gathering, but it would be precious little.

"I take it she's not as interested in the trade talks, then? Got activities more to her specialization than commerce on Canopis Station?"

There was a rumbling chuckle that the translator didn't bother much with. "As a matter of fact, Ramicran is sorry she's missing this. The initial formalities and festivities are hosted on the station, but there are a few opportunities to tour the planet it orbits. Tonbos Terre boasts some exotic sights."

"Sounds thrilling." In the back of his mind, McCoy went over the vast list of inoculations they had to prep for the mission, and the mad scramble in the Sickbay. Who knew Chapel had played lacrosse back in her wild youth? Anyone who'd set eyes on her slinging the salient PADDs to Nurse Page for input, that's who. "I'm sure we won't have to worry overmuch with Conna and the rest of the Security team out and about."

Conna lit up at the mention and wagged his tail. "I've helped research Tonbos Terre and the rest of the inhabited planets in the Canopian Alliance. There shouldn't be anything there to surprise us."

McCoy groaned. "Oh don't say that! It's always the quiet ones!"

All three Trievans cocked their heads at him.

"It's an old expression. 'Always the quiet ones' who turn on you and whatnot. Murphy's Law, Finagle's Law- a whole host of others. It sounds a little pessimistic, but it's the lot this ship's been dealt."

Conna laughed. "It is pessimistic, Blue! If your ship has been through so many disasters and come out alright, what law would that be?"

McCoy had to hand it to him. The kid was right. "Kirk's Law. Whatever can go wrong can be fixed with sufficient stubbornness."

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Here's the TLDR; ahead of time: Moved states, moved fandoms, lost interest, new job, new hours, new city, got 1 (one) review a month or so ago, forced revitalization of the story.**

 **So here it is! I've come up with a real plot for Dogs 2, and I hope you guys weren't too weary of the waiting. Honestly, I really wish I could've picked it up sooner, but please understand 'Dog Days' was like... an author's miracle. One week, 30k, a mad frenzy of inspiration and creativity. I've never been able to replicate it. I'll do my best, but can't guarantee more than one update a month. I'll shoot for better, but it's up in the air full disclosure. So if I post like, three chapters is a day, you know to hunker down and get ready for a chapter famine. Total honesty.**

 **Anyway! Don't hit up my tumblr until April 22nd because I'm offline for the duration. Come at me in the PM thing tho hit me up fam. Peace.**


	3. Storm's Got It's Ion You

So far, no one had to invoke Kirk's Law or anything like it. The tour went off pretty much without a hitch. Most of the visually interesting areas weren't being occupied by hastily accommodated quarters, so McCoy had the freedom to essentially give the Trievan delegation the run of the place. He did, however, have to leave them to their mealtimes in order to catch up on paperwork. Sickbay didn't run on autopilot, and there was some kind of major malfunction when he returned.

"I don't know what you've been up to, Doctor," Chapel groused at him upon arrival, "but we've got our work cut out for us."

He fell into step at her side and they started the age-old routine. "What's the situation, Doctor?"

'Well Doctor," Chapel managed a grin, "Passenger quarters have finally been nailed down- or up, in the Avarian case- so we don't have a problem there. I've had to stop from pulling my hair out after the nonsense calls we've been getting, however."

"Nonsense calls?"

Chapel nodded. "The Vibriddians are complaining that their climate control adjustments can't be changed by thousandths of a degree."

McCoy frowned. "The computer can do that."

"Oh yes. But they want a _button_ that can do it, goodness knows why. I rerouted their complaint to Engineering. It's Scotty's problem now. But that isn't the only one." She whipped out the PADD she'd been carrying under her arm. "Berellian Ambassador's valet feeling general unease; no required action on our part and they just wanted to make sure someone knew. The Marecinians are delighted that their water is so refreshing and request 'more snacks'." McCoy tactfully looked elsewhere.

"Apparently, your Trievan delegation is a hit with Security and Acting Chief Chekov wants us to issue an allergen warning to all his Ensigns just to keep them in line. Who knew the regime would fall apart under the threat of dog-petting."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Heaven help us. We're not the complaints department."

"The Captain won't let me reroute snippiness to officers I'm sore with."

It was par for the course on a ship so large and important. The Babel conference had been much the same. Really, it was a surprise no one had killed each other yet. Of course, Kirk was no green Captain anymore. He commanded a bit more respect in this corner of the galaxy. Still, it was tempting fate to think too long on their success so far.

"We'll just have to swing at whatever they pitch our way, Doctor." He skimmed the increasingly outrageous list on the PADD. "Even if it's just been curveballs for the last three hours. Oof." Such was the life. Even if it didn't strictly fall under the purview of Sickbay duties, somebody had to field all these complaints.

"We've redirected all calls to my office. Nurse Morris is taking everything down and categorizing complaints based on nature and urgency. So far, we're holding the fort. No one's called back reporting any injuries, however, so the situation is stable at the moment."

At the moment. He really ought to stop dwelling on the volatile nature of it all. McCoy was not a man to put too much stock in luck or karma, but it would do no good to tempt things for the sake of it.

"At any rate, I'm available for paperwork and troubleshooting." McCoy handed the PADD back to Chapel. "As long as you don't stick me in the guts of some misbehaving machine, I'm here."

That got him a chuckle. "Far be it from me to tell the CMO when he can and can't get his hands dirty. I've done handoff, so now it's your turn to run the show. Not my circus, not my monkeys for the next couple of hours."

Giving her a good natured scowl, McCoy broke formation and headed for the impromptu command center in her office. "Sure they're not your monkeys? Mine are usually of the less cooperative Command variety. We'll see if the new uniforms survive the fire swallowing act."

Chapel went along about her business- her break, more likely- and McCoy readied himself for all the hep and hullabaloo on the other side of the door. As he expected, the place was covered in PADDs. McCoy had to make way for a Nurse carrying three as she hurried from the room. Morris was hunched behind Chapel's desk, running a hand through tight curls as he fielded a call.

"Of course. We've already sent your complaint through the priority queue and onto the department that will be able to solve this… psychic dilemma the quickest. Absolutely." Morris caught McCoy's eye and waved him toward the other chair. "And they will get in contact with you as soon as they have dealt with the… the obvious large energy threat. No, I'm sorry, I don't know the officer assigned to your case. Yes, they will call you. Thank you. Apologies."

He ended the call at once. Morris sank back in his chair and lifted a PADD off the desk. "I would stand at attention, Doctor, but I'm up to my knees in paperwork."

McCoy chuckled as he sat. "I'm not overly concerned with formalities at this stage, son. Where's the biggest fire at?"

Morris snorted. "That's the worst of it sir, no fires. Seems like everyone's got a candle that they seem to think is a blaze." He chucked the PADD back with its brethren and rested his elbows on what desk space remained clear. "I don't know how we did it last time."

"Easy: last time it was all diplomats. This here's a _trade_ opportunity. The fact that the Federation's doin' an eligibility check on the down-low is the only reason why we put up with it." McCoy figured he'd kick his feet up if there was room. It seemed that the stress of the refit was just compounded with all the additional passengers and their needs. Morris was no green hand, but there was a lot at stake. And to add insult to insanity most of the hypochondriacs decided to put a word in now. But whatever the task, they had their work cut out for them.

"Anything I can do to lighten the load?" McCoy asked.

"Short of making house calls? No. This is one of those 'better I spoke up and there turned out not to be a problem' kind of jobs by-and-large. Nearly everyone on these lists-" He gestured to the biggest stack of PADDs, "-just wants a listening ear. Unfortunately this isn't that kind of racket. I do have three _real_ issues if you'd like to peruse."

Morris slid over a single PADD from a separate area of the desk. McCoy took it and eyed it like it was a venomous snake.

"At least they aren't emergencies." McCoy sighed as he scrolled through the list. "Fractured elbow? Please tell me that one came up here in person and not just-"

Morris nodded. "That they did. A member of the C'Fungam delegation. It made the list because one of them had the sense to call it in ahead of time. The other two are more recent and I don't know if they've been dealt with."

McCoy turned his attention back to the PADD. The Marecinian delegation had gotten back in touch with Sickbay to let them know that one of the regulators was getting too hot. There had been a minor burn incident, but that could be handled quickly with a Nurse and a call to Engineering.

The second call was slightly more puzzling. Apparently three more of those C'Fungamis had… "Gone into hibernation'? Morris, what's that supposed to mean?"

Morris opened his mouth to answer when his computer beeped. "Please ask Nurse Bolivar. I'm handling this."

McCoy took the dismissal and the PADD. He hurried back out into the Sickbay to track down one Nurse and one mysterious C'Fungami. Lucky enough to catch two birds in the hand without beating around the bush, McCoy found them both in one of the recovery rooms.

"Nurse Bolivar."

She turned to report, crisp white uniform matching well with the newness of the rest of the Sickbay. "Doctor McCoy. This is Trade Administrator Elgaeb of the C'Fungam delegation. I was just about to find a doctor. She wasn't sedated but…"

Administrator Elgaeb appeared to be sleeping soundly. The biobed readout said she was healthy, but the pale pallor of her emerald skin made him wonder.

"Was she alert when she came in?" McCoy checked the readouts one more time and pulled up the recorded vitals on the PADD.

Nurse Bolivar pulled a face. "Not alert, per se. She was walking with aid on her way in. One of the under-ministers, if I understood correctly, helped her in before leaving. And she was conscious for the painkiller, and after. All the sudden…"

"Alright, Nurse. Please file the report and I'll see about the other three cases."

Bolivar's eyes widened. "Other three?"

"Sure as sunshine in a trinary system. We got a call a few minutes ago. I can't say for sure, but I think a few of these puzzle pieces add up."

Unfortunately for McCoy, he would have to put his puzzle on hold.

" _Bridge to Sickbay."_

With a sigh fit to set the Sickbay's nerves on end McCoy went to answer the call.

"McCoy here." He responded. "What's the emergency."

 _"We're going to have to skirt the edge of the storm, Bones."_ Jim replied. The lack of levity in his tone told half the story. It seemed that, despite their precautions, conditions would remain suboptimal. _"We're picking up some interesting readings up here. Spock will be keeping an eye on it, but we wanted to give you early warning. With so many different biological configurations in play-"_

"Constant vigilance." McCoy cut in. "I read you, Jim. Just out of curiosity, how close are we to the phenomena?"

There was a pause. _"I believe we entered the outer edge a few minutes a-"_

McCoy rolled his eyes. Cutting off his Captain again, he interjected. "Some _earlier_ warning would've been ideal, Captain. We've already got suspected injuries. Please send me Spock's report when he has it. Something urgent has just come up."

He ended the call and walked back to where Bolivar was standing. "We need to get a team down to the C'Fungam quarters straight away. It could be nothing, but the timing of this storm is just too suspicious." McCoy punched a few buttons to send the biobed readouts to his PADD. "When you're done, stick around here and get prepped for similar cases. I'm going to talk with Doctor Clifford."

With that, McCoy made a hasty exit. Lucy Clifford was their resident physiotelepathology expert. If anyone could confirm whether or not their was an emergency, it was her. Luckily, outside of breaks, Doctor Clifford could usually be found at her desk in Medlab 4. McCoy tucked his PADD under his arm like a football and proceeded to book it.

It was very lucky indeed that Doctor Clifford was in. She sat in front of her computer logging data points from a recent experiment, her ankles dangling just over the edge of the seat. McCoy didn't bother to knock. His staff was well used to his eccentric professional bearing and had learned to adapt. Doctor Clifford was no different. Without looking away from her screen she addressed her CMO.

"This isn't a priority one assignment, but it will be a pain to have to catalogue these readings again, sir."

McCoy almost felt bad. Almost. "I'd offer my regrets, Clifford, but this might be an emergency." She gave him her full attention. "What can you tell me about C'Fungam hibernation cycles? I know they're straddling the line of telepath and empath, but my expertise doesn't extend that far."

Clifford turned her chair to face him. "C'Fungam hibernation patterns present the most common way: once a year per their solar cycle, they enter a deep sleep in order to weather the unique conditions on their planet. I believe there's a fairly regular pattern of solar flares coinciding with their summers. It wreaks havoc on their tech, but is very profitable where agriculture is concerned." Clifford blinked. "Why do you ask?"

McCoy pulled a face. "Four members of the C'Fungam delegation-so far- have entered hibernation prematurely. I've got reason to suspect it's related to the same space storm that's turned our timetable topsy-turvy."

Clifford responded to his grimace in kind. "Then shake a leg, sir, we've got diagnostics to run."

The Doctor hopped down from her seat and the two of them hurried back down the hall to the Sickbay. There were several nurses and orderlies waiting for them. It seemed like nearly all of the delegation had come down with the early nap epidemic. Stretchers were moving toward biobeds and there was an air of silent panic about.

Doctor Clifford flagged down an orderly. "Danny, what's the headcount?"

Danny slid the stretcher aside to respond. "Six so far. Six of eight. The other two have been admitted under observation and they're wracking their brains trying to figure this out. Glad to have an expert on the scene."

Doctor Clifford straightened. "Glad to hear the situation is in hand. We should keep an eye on those already asleep. Doctor McCoy and I are going to interview the two still conscious."

McCoy bit his lip to keep from laughing. Clifford had a way of making hostile takeovers look like works of art. The smooth transition of power was comical, especially since she had every right to run the show as the resident expert.

"Lead the way, Doctor." McCoy said, grinning. "We've got two lovely C'Fungam to interview."

Doctor Clifford started heading away. McCoy was about to follow, when the main doors swished open behind him. He turned and met a rapidly falling blur of red and black. His instincts saved his hide and his new patient's as they both dropped to the floor in a heap. McCoy was able to grab his ailing companion and stop both their heads from hitting the ground. Unfortunately it didn't stop him from getting a shock.

"Thank you… Doctor." Spock blinked, hard, no doubt to clear the haze from his vision. "It seems we have encountered… a problem."


End file.
